Mario offered his clean piece and assistance if he needed backup. Howard wasn’t expecting any trouble—just protocol for a red code pickup. Mario chuckled. With two extra clips in his pocket, Howard was ready to take on several people if necessary.
In the distance, a private jet landed, and Howard moved the limo into position.The plane came to a stop on the edge of the tarmac, the engines shut down, the ground crew blocked the wheels, and a stairway released from the belly of the plane. The limousine pulled up and stopped with the back door in front of the stairs.
Howard came around and stood at the rear door. Julie Wong made her exit from the plane holding the handrail and carefully walked down the narrow steps. In her usual grace, she was decked out in an outfit made for her perfect body—jewelry and a handbag matching perfectly.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Wong,” Howard said, holding the car door for her.
“Nice to see you again, Howard,” she said with her infectious smile.
Howard introduced Mario as an assistant in training for a code red transfer.
“Good,” she said. “The people I’m meeting with can be scary at times.”
Howard looked at her through the rearview mirror as they drove slowly out the parking lot. “Where to, Ms. Wong?”
“For now get on the Interstate and head east,” she said. “I have to make a call.”
Julie flipped her cell phone open and hit a button. “I’m here—is it a go?” she said. “Okay, we’re on our way.”
“Take the Causeway to Mandeville. Do you know the Savino Family compound?” she said, looking up at Howard.
Her destination caught Howard off guard, and he had to repeat. “Savino compound?”
“Yes, do you know how to get there?”
Howard looked at Mario with a grin. “Yes, I know the place.”
Mario sat deep in the seat, his eyes blinking but yet roaming the road—that quickly Mario put a plan in place. He looked at Howard and smiled thinking. We’re going to drive up to the gates, and they are going to welcome us with open arms.
They drove twenty-six miles across the Causeway Bridge and turned at the first left, making a loop back towards Lake Pontchartrain. The compound was surrounded by a brick fence, iron gates, and backed up against the lake. The only way in other than the securely guarded front gates was through the rear of the property by boat.
Howard whispered to Mario, “Today you’re not a cop. You observe and don’t get involved. Whatever you do, don’t get out the limousine.”
“I don’t have a badge. I’m not a cop today.”
The car pulled into a blacktop road, and the first thing you saw was tall pine trees and two Private Property signs on each side of the curb in three different locations, and on top the signs were cameras and motion detectors. There was no mistake. If you were not invited, you best not be on this road.
The car reached the gatehouse, and two men with semi-automatic guns over their shoulders signaled for the limousine to stop. One man stood at the gate while the other man walked to Howard’s window. The guard looked in the front seat then the rear seat area.
“Are you Ms. Wong?”
“Yes, I am.”
Leaning into Howard’s window, he said, “Drive up to the house. You’ll be met and escorted by foot from that point.”
The gates opened and Howard drove slowly down the blacktop road that curved several times until a big white house came into view. “This is something out of a James Bond movie.”
“I’ve seen surveillance pictures of aerial shots,” Mario said. “I’ve always heard they lived in the backwoods. I thought like gypsies or hillbillies—this is more like the Beverly Hillbillies.”
The car came to a stop, and Howard opened the door for Julie. A man escorted her up the steps of the plantation-style home. Howard and Mario sat in the car, two bodyguards sitting on the front porch keeping a watchful eye on their every move.
Julie was frisked by one of the bodyguards. She raised her arms. Men, women, and children were all checked for guns and explosives before entering the house of this Mafia kingpin. It was just a way of life. Two men with guns approached Howard and Mario. They both identified that they had weapons and turned them over without resistance. Both were frisked, then told to sit back in the car. Their guns and Julie’s purse were locked in the trunk of the limousine as long as they were on the property.
Two men escorted Julie into the house. It was outsized and tastefully decorated. She took a seat on a sofa across from two chairs. The man offered her a refreshment. She chose tea, and the men left the room, closing the double doors behind them. Julie was impressed with the place, apparently decorated by a professional and well done.
“Your tea, Ms. Wong,” said a lady dressed in a fancy uniform, putting a tray with cookies and decorative teapot on the table.
“Ms. Wong, so nice to meet you,” said a man coming through a door across the room. He extended his hand to her, and they exchanged greetings. “I’m Lorenzo Savino. Can I join you for tea?” he said, taking a seat across from her.
“Of course,” Julie said with a smile, observing a well-spoken, middle-aged man, neatly dressed, with maybe a hundred-dollar haircut and possibly a little touch up at the temples, manicured fingernails, and her personal favorite: handsome and influential. Based on the new client interview and profile sheet she saw during a meeting with her superiors, she didn’t expect such a clean-cut man. The international company Julie Wong worked for had profile sheets and more information on their clients than most government agencies. It was important they knew the good, bad, and ugly before they took on a new customer. The profile of the head of a powerful Mafia Family was even more detailed.
“I take it you know why I selected your company?” he said.
“Because we come highly recommended,” Julie said, looking him straight in the eyes. “We’ve worked for presidents of the top ten largest companies in the world, kings, and a few of your associates in New York, to name a few.”
“Yes, of course. I also want to get a particular element of my business away from the family. Normally I would let my nephews handle this part, but they have gotten sloppy. Maybe it’s the alcohol, possibly the drugs, neither of which I approve of.”
“I understand,” Julie said, pouring a cup of tea for her and Lorenzo. “Sugar?”
He smiled. “Yes. Two, please.”
Lorenzo discussed his older brother Joseph’s kids—a different generation. A throwback of the 70s, sporting long hair, blue jeans, with a beer in hands at all times. It was something their father tolerated and got them nicknamed “the Hillbilly Mafia.” They originated in the backwoods of Mississippi with their grandparents. Fortunately for Lorenzo, his father had plans for his education: high school and college. He built the family business from the backwoods to an empire. He pointed out oil paintings and sculptures in the elegantly decorated room like they were trophies of accomplishments.
“You look like you’ve done well for yourself,” Julie said, stroking his ego.
“Daddy would be pleased. Our business is about eighty percent legit. Shipping, trash removal, gambling, a few restaurants, and then there is that twenty percent. We may never be one hundred percent legit, but I’m hopeful.”
Lorenzo pulled a brown envelope from the table and passed it to Julie. A man owed him a lot of money, more than the person could ever pay back. More so, lately his business had operated very sloppily. Sloppily was not okay—that was how his nephew, Joey, found his new life in Calabar. The man he mentioned had done some work for Lorenzo over the years, but authorities were close to busting his entire operation, and he could tie back to the Savino family. It was time for Lorenzo to cut his losses and part ways.
Pointing out this person owed him $200,000, Lorenzo offered Julie half the money if she was able to collect. But he didn’t want the money to distract her from the priority: he must go. Julie acknowledged with a nod of her head. Only if the opportunity presented itself should she push for th
e money, otherwise, just have this person disappear.
The fee for Julie to get started was sent to The Bank of Panama. It was the same bank Lorenzo used for years to wash his money, and it should be in place the next day.
Lorenzo extended his hand, indicating the meeting was over. They shook hands, and Julie’s escort appeared at the door to walk her out.
“It’s been a pleasure. I’ll be in touch once I have completed the assignment,” Julie said, and met her escort at the door.
Out front the bodyguards allowed Mario and Howard to stand outside the limo. They made small talk and touched on football like old friends. A car drove past Mario and parked near the front entrance. He recognized the three men that got out as the hillbillies he’d run into at Calabar—as nasty-looking as ever, except the lady in black. For now, he kept a low profile.
Mario’s eyes darted to Lorenzo as he came out of the house. He’d seen pictures of Lorenzo Savino, mostly surveillance and blurred images. It was almost like he was looking at a celebrity live and in person. Every law enforcement person that ever worked a case against Lorenzo would love to be this close to him, but none had ever been.
“Ms. Wong, I would like you to meet someone,” Lorenzo said, stopping Julie at the edge of the porch. An older lady dressed in black came through the door. “This is my sister-in-law, Angelina Savino.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Savino,” Julie said, taking her hand.
“Please—call me Lina,” she said. “I understand we’re doing business together.Welcome to the family,” Lina said, giving Julie a hug.
Mario couldn’t believe his eyes. He didn’t need to set a meeting up with the Savino family. The decision-makers were in front of him.
“Ms. Savino,” Mario said, walking towards the front porch before he was abruptly stopped by one of the bodyguards.
“You’re the man from the parking lot at Calabar—you’re a cop,” Lina said.
Lorenzo gave a wave of his hand, and two bodyguards raised their guns and walked towards Mario. Howard grabbed his gun out of habit, then realized it wasn’t there. Now he was having second thoughts about bringing Mario along for the ride.
He raised his hand over his head. “No! I’m an ex-cop,” Mario shouted.
“What is this guy doing on the premises?” Lorenzo said with a little fire in his voice.
Julie could see people were getting uneasy. “Calm down. You think I’m coming to your compound without my bodyguards?” Turning to Lorenzo and his people, she said, “He’s with me.”
“You need to get your people off my property,” Lorenzo said emphatically.
“I need to speak to Lina and Lorenzo,” Mario said, taking his coat off. “See—I’m clean, no weapons. It’s about Joey. I can make his life a lot easier,” Mario blurted out.
Lina gave him a look. “You’re the one that said Felipe is a Fed snitch.”
“Felipe Cruz?” Lorenzo said. “He’s a lot of things, but not a snitch.”
Mario slowly lowered his arms. “Prison can turn you into a lot of things, especially when you’re in for life. Trust me, he’s a snitch.”
Lina whispered into Lorenzo’s ear. They looked at Mario and thought for a second.
“Frisk him again and bring him to my office,” Lorenzo said.
Mario followed Lorenzo into the house with an armed man on each side. He was told to sit on the sofa, and Lorenzo sat across from him. Lina, moving slowly, sat next to Lorenzo.
“So, how can you help my son?” Lina said.
Out by the limousine, Julie was furious. She had worked on getting Savino as a client for a year. Howard almost destroyed the relationship by bringing an ex-cop with him.
The front door opened and Mario walked out the house first followed by Lorenzo and Lina, who had a smile on her face, which was a relief to Julie and Howard.
“Good luck. I hope you can deliver as good as the stories you tell,” Lorenzo said, handing Mario a card. “Call this number and ask for Little Pete if you need me.”
“Yes, sir,” Mario said.
“I look forward to my nephew Joey calling me with his new prison arrangements.”
Mario took his cue from Lorenzo and got in the limousine. Howard and Julie followed. The limo stopped outside of the compound gatehouse. Howard popped the truck and handed Julie her purse and recovered their guns. Mario took a seat in the back with Julie.
The limousine pulled off slowly into traffic. Julie’s eyes glanced at Mario than to the back of Howard’s head. With one swift move, her pearl handle switchblade came from under her jacket sleeve, popped open, and pointed at Mario's neck before he could blink. With her other hand, she pointed a gun at the back of Howard's head.
“You see, gentlemen, if I wanted to take you out, you’d be dead already,” Julie said. “Why are you babysitting me in the back seat?”
“I wanted to explain what happened back there,” Mario said, barely opening his mouth with the blade still pointed into his neck.
“Explain!” Julie said, dropping her gun and taking Mario’s weapon from his waistband.
Howard watched nervously through the rearview mirror. His weapon was cocked and ready if needed. He could make a hard left u-turn with the limousine and stop it on a dime, put two bullets in Julie's head before she knew what was happening. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. It would be hard to tell Ben Stein he’d killed their best client.
Things calmed down, and Mario and Julie talked on the drive back to the airport. Howard made the hour’s drive in record time and pulled up at the tarmac. Julie’s plane was ready to fly her to her next client.
Howard opened the rear door for Julie, and she slipped out.
She leaned in the car. “Are we okay?”
“We’re fine except for my ego; it’s a little crushed,” Mario said.
“Come on, you never been dominated by a woman?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Well, you should try it sometime,” Julie said, and walked up the stairs. “See you soon.”
CHAPTER 47
A duffel bag with $200,000 in cash neatly packed inside sat on Dr. Ross’s desk. After an hour he still couldn’t come up with a solution on how to distribute the money. For now, he decided on fresh air. Locking the duffel bag in a file cabinet, he walked the halls of Riverside and finally found peace outside on a bench in the garden area.
Walter had to step up his business of selling organs on the black market or stop gambling. He convinced himself that gaming was a relief from stressful days, so that didn’t seem to be an option. It didn’t take a psychologist to understand Walter’s problem—he felt killing people for their organs and selling them for a profit was just a good business model.
Borrowing $200,000 from Larry Dunbar, his trusted underground banker, seemed like a good idea at the time. Using the money to bankroll his gambling stay in Las Vegas hoping to win money to pay his bookie turned out not to be a good choice. He lost all the money on the first day and a half. To his rescue was a sweet-talking female casino credit host that opened him a line of credit equal to the amount he had lost. After two days of drawing down the entire credit line, Walter finally got lucky at the dice table, walking away from the table with just about $200,000 in chips. There was one problem: he failed to pay the credit line when he cashed out the chips. After one call to the casino host, he assured her a cashier’s check would arrive by the end of the week. That secured him some time. But that was a month ago.
Now he was in debt to Larry and his bookie, and the scariest part was he still had not paid the casino. Everyone in town had a suggestion of where to gamble in Las Vegas. The best rooms, best food, best odds at craps, they all said the same thing: stay at the Crystal Castle, and he did. The frightening part was he hadn’t known the casino was mobbed up and backed by the Savino Family. Two family gorillas came looking for their money more than once, and the last visit wasn’t pleasant.
Zack Nelson sat on a bench not too far away from the doct
or. He despised him, but yet couldn’t stop staring. The cop in Zack knew the doctor murdered a lot of people and had dodged the law for years. But he wondered how much longer it would be before he made a mistake that would get him locked up forever.
Walter Ross could procrastinate as good as anyone. He would put off tomorrow if he could. A returned phone call to his bookie was overdue.
If he took the $200,000 and gave it to the casino, Larry and the bookie would rough him up, but he would be out of the hospital in a few weeks. If he didn’t pay the casino, the Savino goons would outright kill him. He sat on the bench and thought about the lesser of the two evils.
The doctor’s concentration was interrupted by the voice of his secretary. He had a phone call—one he hoped would bring good news. Walter got back to his office and flopped into his desk chair. He took a deep breath, then picked up the phone. “This is Dr. Ross.”
“Walter—I’ll get to the point. We have no interest at this time.”
“Myron, this is important. Surely you have someone in need of a transplant.”
“Of course, but my clients are too far away and unable to travel closer to New Orleans. With the time it takes to harvest, flight time, and transportation to the hospital, eight hours could pass—it’s too risky.”
Walter did what he hated to do, and pleaded—not the best approach when wanting top dollar for your product. Myron stayed firm to his decision.
“Walter, my only suggestion is if you can get your client closer to me alive and breathing—you know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean, but it’s not possible.”
“You figure a way. I’ll have five hundred thousand dollars for four organs. Healthy and properly prepared,” Myron said. “I must go now,” he concluded, and the call disconnected.
Walter slammed the phone down. He was no closer to a solution than an hour ago. It was time to make a decision. He picked up a cup of coffee from the kitchen and took a seat in the garden area.
Zack Nelson, now joined by Dave, was deep into a conversation, and louder than Walter liked. He moved down the pathway and took another seat—the distance muffled the chatter of their conversation. Walter sat sipping his coffee when an idea just popped into his head. This could work.
Crescent City Detective Page 33